Sex and the Single Earl (6 page)

Bathsheba hated Bath, claiming no person of fashion ever set foot in the place. Simon had a grim, certain feeling she had followed him here with the firm intention of trying to seduce him back into her bed.

The violins scraped out the last chords of the dance, and Bathsheba dropped gracefully into a low curtsy before him. He took her arm and led her from the floor.

“Simon, why is that young man waving at you from across the room?” Bathsheba’s voice was laced with boredom. “Does no one know how to behave in this benighted town?”

“It’s only Robert Stanton. I assume he wants to make sure he attracts our notice.”

“Good Lord, must we speak to him? Robert Stanton is such a silly boy. And his wife! A provincial nobody. She is fortunate indeed her grandparents even acknowledge her.”

Simon ignored her comments, regretting he was forced to keep her by his side. He could already see Sophie, demure in her pretty muslin gown, inspecting Bathsheba’s wisp of a bodice with disapproving eyes.

He ground his teeth—the last thing he needed was for Sophie to think him still engaged in an affair, discreet or otherwise.

“Well, at least Sophia Stanton is good ton.” Bathsheba’s light, disdainful chatter prattled on. “But I’m amazed to see the girl wearing her spectacles to a ball. Really, it will be a miracle if she doesn’t end up on the shelf. She’s perilously close to being an ape leader as it is.”

Simon almost laughed out loud. By the ton’s standards, Sophie was about to make the best match of the Season. And he, for one, felt nothing but relief that she had finally developed the good sense to wear her spectacles on social occasions. At more than one grand event—when her mother had insisted she remove them—Simon had been forced to rescue her from encounters with potted plants, or to pull her back from tumbling down a flight of stairs.

“Hallo, old fellow,” exclaimed Robert, as Simon and Bathsheba joined the little group. “Didn’t think to see you here in Bath.”

“Indeed,” murmured Bathsheba in a catty voice, “I think we all find ourselves surprised to be here.”

Sophie stiffened. Annabel looked startled and moved to stand closer to her.

Simon quickly took Annabel’s hand. “Mrs. Stanton, may I say what a great pleasure it is to see you again? I didn’t expect to have the privilege of your company in Bath.”

She returned his greeting with a heartfelt smile. “Lord Trask, it’s always wonderful to see you. Robert and I thought we would spend a few weeks with Sophie since she was so close by, visiting your aunts.”

“How are Lady Eleanor and Lady Jane, Simon?” Robert’s voice expressed genuine concern. “Sophie tells me Lady Eleanor is troubled by the damp weather.”

“It’s a miracle only the weather troubles her,” purred Bathsheba. “This town is so lifeless, so full of ennui and decay, it is a wonder she hasn’t expired from boredom. What is there to do from day to day? Visit the Pump Room, walk about the Orange Grove, and drink so much weak tea that one feels almost drowning in the stuff. And the company! Such a combination of invalids and shabby genteels. I wonder, Lord Trask, how your relations, of all people, can bear to live here the year round.”

Simon repressed a surge of anger. He hated the place as much as Bathsheba, but no friend of his had the right to criticize his aunts.

Sophie jumped in before he had a chance to deflect Bathsheba’s vitriol. “I wonder, then, your ladyship, why
you
would choose to come here? It would, of course, be a great hardship for the citizens of Bath to be deprived of your presence, but I’m sure we’d manage to scrape along without you. When may we expect your departure?”

Robert choked back a laugh. An ugly scowl darkened Bathsheba’s features, rendering her almost plain. The evening was going downhill, and fast.

Nigel Dash popped up at his side, breaking free of the herd around them. “Trask, I thought I’d finally catch up with you tonight. Where the devil have you been keeping yourself? Haven’t seen you in the Pump Room all week.”

Simon had never been so grateful to see his friend. The fellow might be a complete rattle, but he had impeccable timing.

Nigel executed a faultless bow. “Lady Randolph, Mrs. Stanton, Miss Stanton, charmed to see you all looking so splendid. Robert, you dog, no need to ask you how the married state agrees with you. You look in fine trim.”

He chatted away in his usual, rapid-fire style. If Simon didn’t know better, he’d think his friend had no idea he’d just averted a social disaster. But the other man’s eyes darted back and forth between Sophie and Lady Randolph, clearly noting the flushed cheeks of the one, and the sneering countenance of the other.

“Lord Trask.” Lady Randolph ruthlessly interrupted Nigel as he inquired after the health of Robert’s grandparents, General and Lady Stanton.

Simon tore his gaze away from Sophie’s tense face. “Yes, my lady?”

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the card room? We really should leave the children to their amusements.” Bathsheba flashed her teeth at Sophie. “I’m sure we could find more adult diversions to beguile our time.”

Her seductive tone suggested what those diversions might be, as did the slender hand stroking his arm. Simon’s gut clenched as he saw the color leach from Sophie’s face. He removed Bathsheba’s hand, bowing over it before letting go.

“Your ladyship must forgive me, but I am promised to Miss Stanton for the next set.”

He wasn’t, but he suspected Sophie wouldn’t object, especially if it meant escaping Bathsheba’s wrath. Not that Sophie ever ran away from a fight.

Bathsheba’s admittedly spectacular breasts heaved with indignation. She was, no doubt, about to administer him a verbal stab when Nigel intervened.

“I say, capital idea, Lady Randolph! Allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the Octagon Room. I’ve been longing to play a round of whist all evening.” He gallantly offered his arm.

Bathsheba fixed her gaze on Simon, her breath coming more slowly now as she studied him. She must not have liked what she saw on his face, for she quickly wiped all traces of anger from her countenance.

“I would be delighted, Mr. Dash. Thank you for your kindness.” She regally nodded her head to the others, before turning a seductive smile back on Simon. “Lord Trask, I look forward to seeing you again very soon.” With that pointed innuendo, she turned and allowed Nigel to escort her from the room.

“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of that old harpy,” muttered Robert.

“Lord Trask, how long do you intend to remain in Bath?” Annabel said brightly. Simon didn’t miss Robert’s wince as his wife trod heavily on his foot.

“I can’t really say,” he replied, turning his attention back to Sophie. Her usual tea-rose complexion now looked as white as his cravat. The effect was stark, set off by the halo of her burnished curls and her amber gown.

“What’s the matter, Sophie?” Worry sharpened his voice. “Are you ill?”

“No. I…I just have a touch of the headache, that’s all.”

Robert inspected his sister with concern. “You look like a piker, old girl. Best to get you out of these hot rooms. We’ll take you home.”

Her mouth, which she’d held in a tight line, loosened into a slight smile. “Thank you for the charming description, Robert. But I would indeed be grateful if you took me back to St. James’s Square.”

Simon grasped her elbow and pulled her gently to his side. “I’ll take her.”

Sophie gazed up at him, eyes wide and startled.

“Nonsense, Trask,” Robert said. “You stay and enjoy yourself. We’ll…ouch!” He yelped as Annabel again stepped on his foot.

“If you wouldn’t mind, my lord,” Annabel said, ignoring her husband, “I want to pay my respects to Lady Jane. We’ll tell her you’re taking Sophie home.”

She gave Sophie a quick hug and dragged a protesting Robert off through the crowd.

Simon tucked Sophie’s small hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the door. He glanced down, surprised to see tears glittering on the end of her eyelashes.

“What’s wrong, Puck? Is it the headache that bothers you so?”

“No,” she said, rapidly blinking the tears away. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

He steered her out into the hall, worry and frustration gnawing at his gut. Why wouldn’t she tell him what troubled her? He would fix it—he always did.

Whatever it was, as soon as he got her alone he would worm it out of her. It wasn’t too early for Sophie to learn that she might be able to keep secrets from others, but never, under any circumstances, from him.

Sophie blinked back her foolish tears, silently chiding herself for being a watering pot. The last thing she needed was to draw Simon’s attention. He had a certain look in his eyes—a look that said he wouldn’t rest until he had discovered the cause of her tears. If he thought something was wrong, he would hound her until he got it out of her. She had never been able to say no to him, and she didn’t suppose she could start now.

But how could she say anything about Lady Randolph, or ask him if he intended to marry her? She couldn’t bear the humiliation of revealing her own feelings in such a petty manner.

She peeked at his handsome face as he guided her through the hot press of bodies crowding the entrance to the ballroom. He looked grim and not at all likely to be sympathetic. If only Robert and Annabel had taken her home tonight instead of Simon. She could have confided in them about him, and even about the workhouse. Robert always listened to her, and he always understood.

At the thought of her brother and how much she missed him, her eyes filled up again. She blinked harder, and prayed Simon wouldn’t notice.

He noticed. Glancing down, brows knit with concern, he led her toward the antechamber by the front entrance. She groaned inwardly, dreading the interrogation that surely would follow once they exited the Rooms.

“Miss Stanton. What a pleasure to meet you again, and so soon. I hardly expected to see you at the Assembly Rooms this evening.”

Sophie tripped over her own feet, stunned to see Mr. Crawford’s cheery countenance emerge from the crowd in front of her. If Simon hadn’t snaked an arm around her waist she would have tumbled down to the floor.

“Mr. Crawford! Goodness me,” she gasped, righting herself. “How do you do? I didn’t expect to see you at the Rooms at all. But one is always running into everyone here, don’t you find? Such a mad crush tonight! I’m sure my dress is ruined.”

She heard the inane chatter pour from her lips, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her heart began to thud with panic at the thought of what Mr. Crawford might reveal to Simon.

The cleric hesitated, his glance sliding from her face to her companion’s.

Simon cut in. “Sophie, perhaps you would like to introduce me to your acquaintance?”

Oh, God.
He had adopted what she had secretly long ago dubbed The Voice of the Imperious Earl.

“Oh, certainly. Mr. Crawford, allow me to introduce you to the Earl of Trask. My lord, this is Mr. Crawford, the curate of St. Michael’s Church. I have heard him preach many times whilst visiting your aunts in Bath.”

Simon looked down his patrician nose at the plainly dressed cleric, barely acknowledging the other man’s respectful bow. Sophie had to repress the urge to pinch him. Sometimes his bloody lordship was such a snob she wondered he could even see the rest of them from his elevated perch.

The polite smile faded from Mr. Crawford’s lips, no doubt blighted by Simon’s haughty expression. “My lord, it is an honor to meet you,” he replied.

After an excruciatingly long pause, Mr. Crawford’s gaze moved back to meet hers. His light brown eyes glowed with a surprising—and disconcerting—amount of warmth. In fact, he looked quite adoringly at her.

The muscles in Simon’s arm transformed into iron beneath her hand.

“Miss Stanton, I hope you didn’t suffer a chill from your time out in the rain today.” Mr. Crawford ignored Simon’s hostility, which Sophie thought a remarkable feat. “I would never forgive myself if you did.”

“What were you doing out in the rain with Mr. Crawford?” Simon’s glacial tone sent shivers up the length of her spine.

“Nothing, nothing really. We were simply talking out in the courtyard behind the church offices when it began to rain. The downpour was quite drenching, really, but I assure you I suffered no harm.” She opened her eyes wide at the cleric, trying to signal her intentions.

Mr. Crawford frowned earnestly back. He stared at her for a few seconds before comprehension dawned on his features.

“Oh, yes, of course! We were discussing, ah, the parish orphanage when the skies opened up. A regular Noah’s downpour, one might almost say. I tried to urge Miss Stanton to take a chair home, but she would have none of it.” He beamed at her, clearly pleased he had understood her silent plea. For a clergyman, he seemed quite an accomplished liar.

Simon’s hawklike gaze touched on Mr. Crawford before settling on her face. Suspicion narrowed his eyes.

“Mr. Crawford, do forgive us.” Sophie winced when her voice cracked. Unlike the curate, she was an awful liar, at least in front of Simon. “The earl and I were just leaving. He suffers from terrible headaches, you know. The heat in the Rooms often triggers one.”

She pulled Simon away, ignoring Mr. Crawford’s kindly expressions of regret for the earl’s uncertain health. If the situation hadn’t been so appalling, she would have laughed at the outraged look on Simon’s face.

“Wait here, my lord. I’ll retrieve my cloak and be with you in a moment.”

Sophie fled to the safety of the anteroom and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. After a few minutes, when her pulse had finally settled into something approaching a normal rhythm, she accepted her cloak from a serving girl and returned to Simon. His broad shoulders backed against a supporting column, his scowling gaze directed at his feet. He looked like Atlas in a greatcoat, holding the weight of the world on his powerful back.

She sighed, preparing herself for the lecture.

“I’m ready, my lord.”

He plucked the heavy velvet cloak from her hands and draped it over her shoulders, drawing it with an oddly protective gesture around her throat. She lifted her eyes to his dark face, startled by the tenderness she saw there.

“You’ve been out in the rain already today. I don’t want you to catch cold,” he said gruffly.

He steered her out the entrance and onto the paved street. Once free of the press at the door, he signaled for a chairman as he wrapped a brawny arm around her shoulders.

Suddenly, Sophie had no wish to hurry home. The night had turned fine—bright with a full moon, sparkling clear after the rain-washed day.

“Oh, Simon, do let’s walk back to St. James’s Square. It’s a beautiful night now, and it was so stuffy inside.”

He hesitated, weighing her request. She waited patiently.

“Will you be warm enough?”

“Oh, yes. My cloak is very warm, and I’ll put the hood up.” She raised the satin-lined hood around her face as she spoke.

“Very well. The walk isn’t long enough to harm you.” He tucked her hand back in his arm and led the way up Bennet Street.

Her spirits began to lift. She loved it when they were alone like this, as they had so often been when she was a child, and before Simon had become such an important man. It seemed as if they were embarking on a grand adventure, even though they were only walking home through the quiet streets of Bath.

They strolled toward the Circus, not talking, simply enjoying the night and the peace that surrounded them.

“All right, Puck. It’s time to cut line. What exactly is bothering you?”

Well, at least she
had
been enjoying the night. Simon obviously had other ideas.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not a fool, Sophie. You were in tears back in the ballroom, and I know very well it wasn’t because Bathsheba was rude to you. Why are you so upset tonight, and what does the Reverend Crawford have to do with it?”

“Really, Simon, why can’t you just enjoy the walk home? Why must you always assume something is wrong?”

“Because I know you, Sophie. Something is wrong. Does this have anything to do with your bracelet, or the thief who stole it?”

Her stomach lurched at the thought of having to lie—again. If she didn’t find her bracelet soon, she’d have to confess everything. But not tonight. Tonight she’d take the coward’s way out.

“Goodness, the Circus looks wonderful in the moonlight, doesn’t it? Just like a fairyland.”

Even through the layers of his clothing she felt his muscles bunch into frustrated knots.

But though Simon’s mood grew worse by the second, she couldn’t resist the lure of the magical setting. She moved slowly away from him to stand in the center of the circling houses.

The pale stone of the Circus glowed under a bright harvest moon, highlighting the elegant arc of the vast open space between the graceful terraces. She loved it at night, and on sunny days too, when the three-tiered façade of the townhouses, with row upon row of gleaming windows, reminded her of a gigantic tea service.

“Sophie, don’t try to change the subject. You were up to something with Crawford today, and it had nothing to do with the parish orphanage. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” she cried, stung by the truth of his accusation. “I did go to the orphanage today, and I would never lie to you, at least not if I could help it.”

Too late, she realized what she had just blurted out.

He crossed the ground to her side in two strides. Grasping her shoulders, he spun her around. Shadows hid his face, but she could hear the quiet menace in his voice.

“So, you went looking for the boy today, didn’t you? What else don’t you want me to know about? Where did Mr. Crawford take you? Tell me right now—the truth, Sophie.”

Her heart began pounding again, but not from fear. Simon would never hurt her. But his words triggered a flood of images she had been trying to repress all night. A cold sweat gathered on her neck at the memory of what she had seen in the workhouse.

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “What did you do?”

“I went to the Refuge for the Destitute,” she whispered.

He jerked back, as if she had slapped him. “You went to the workhouse?” His deep voice echoed like distant thunder around the terraces.

“Simon, hush! You’ll wake everyone and bring the watch down on us.”

He let loose a rapid string of curses, most of which she had never heard before, and certainly not from him. He released her shoulders and grabbed an elbow, towing her around the arch of the Circus. She hurried to keep up.

“I swear to God, Sophie, you won’t be able to sit for a week by the time I’m through with you. And by the time I’m finished with that bastard Crawford he’ll never set foot in a church again. What the hell were you thinking to expose yourself in a place like that, with its filth and disease? And what if someone saw you?”

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, furious that she had been stupid enough to tell him. How could she have forgotten the Earl of Trask belonged to the most scandal-averse family in England?

“You will leave Mr. Crawford alone, Simon. I gave him very little choice in the matter, I assure you.”

“That I can well believe,” he flung back. “Someone needs to have the schooling of you, my girl, before you do yourself a real harm.”

“You’re not my brother or my father,” she yelled, no longer caring if anyone heard them. “You have no right to lecture me or tell me what to do!”

“No, I’m not your father, thank God. But aside from Robert, I’m the closest thing you have to family in this town. Someone has to be responsible for you, and it might as well be me.”

She turned her back on him and stomped off toward Brock Street. The ring of his heels on the pavement followed closely behind. His hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to a halt.

“What would your mother think, Sophie? To know you had been to a place like that? Can you even begin to imagine her dismay?”

“She would have felt as I did, I’m sure of it. Devastated, furious that human beings could be so ill used.” She wiped angry tears from her eyes. “Do you have any idea what goes on in those places, Simon? You accused me the other day of naïveté. Well, perhaps it’s true, but I think the whole country must be blind to turn its back on such things. You wouldn’t treat your animals that way. Why do men allow such things to happen?”

She stopped as hot tears choked off the words.

He loomed over her, looking like a demon in the night, his greatcoat swirling about him like a cloud of ink. She should have been frightened, but right now what she most wanted to do was pummel some sense into him. But she’d tried that before—on more than one occasion—and it never worked.

She sighed as the fury suddenly drained away, overcome with a weary longing to crawl into bed and be done with this day.

“I can’t fight with you anymore, Simon. It’s been a terrible day, and I just want to go home.”

He took her arm in silence and led her toward the Crescent. As they approached the open space at the top of the street, a gust of wind blew her hood back on her neck. Simon paused to draw the heavy material up around her face. His arm settled over her shoulders, pulling her against the side of his powerful body.

Sophie tensed, every nerve jumping at the intimacy of the gesture. But then she relaxed against him. Part of her wanted to push him away, but another part longed to burrow into his seductive warmth, the gentle embrace soothing the ache in her heart.

“Sweetheart, I do know what goes on in the workhouses. I’ve seen it.” His voice had dropped to a quiet rumble. “They are slices of hell on this earth. But there’s little that can be done, at least not without large-scale reforms. Most in government and the church believe the poor must be forced to seek employment. If the workhouses were not places to fear, to be avoided at all cost, most believe the parishes would be overwhelmed with paupers and their families.”

“Mr. Crawford says no decent man would choose to take his family there,” Sophie ventured.

Simon’s voice grew hard. “We will leave Mr. Crawford out of this discussion, if you please.”

They emerged from Brock Street onto the commanding heights of the Crescent. Lights burned in some of the houses, but all was still. Only the wind moaned quietly in the night, sending little dust devils playing about the hem of Sophie’s cloak.

They stopped and gazed down the Crescent Field toward the Lower Town, the river, and Avon Street—and abject despair.

“I want to find my bracelet, Simon. It’s important to me. But it’s more than that. It’s about that frightened little boy. I know I can help him. I may not be able to help those other children, but I can save him. I know it.”